The Atavist
by White Eyebrow
Summary: It takes the eye of a legendary sage to reveal the most powerful witch of the age... This is another bit of fluff written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round Three.


_This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 5, Round Three._

_House: Gryffindor (The only house that matters)  
__Class Subject: Potions  
__Category: Standard  
__Prompt: [Character] __Sybill Trelawney_

_Word Count: 2228 (google docs)_

* * *

The Atavist

Most consider the Inner Eye a gift. Looking back on my long life, I'm not so sure that I share that particular inclination. Don't get me wrong; the accolades that go along with being a seer of legendary status has its perks. However, the irony of my failure to foresee the incessant boredom that goes along with knowing everything that happens _before_ it happens, is _not_ one of them.

I close the door for the last patron—another satisfied customer—and I set the 'closed' sign, marking the end of another business day… business as usual. It's not the fanciest of places, my shop, but it's mine; I foresaw owning it.

I remove my headress and my gaudy robes. A practiced flick of my wand sends them to their assigned spaces in my closet, next to my crystal ball and stack of tarot cards.

I retire to the parlour room and start to clean the waiting area; customers can be so messy. I smile when I spy the suspicious bulge of one of the curtains bordering the window, informing me of an intruder that lurks unseen. "Sybill, come out here."

So named, the little girl comes out of hiding from behind the thick tasselled curtain, her eyeglasses set askew across her brow. Her mother dropped her off wearing that same dingy dress from last week… I'll be sure to tell my granddaughter to straighten her daughter out.

With Sybill secure by my side, I raise my wand, and the Tidying Spell begins. "Have you been reading the palms of my customers again, child?"

I already know the answer, but experience has taught me that when dealing with the _seeing-blind_—yes, that's what I call you—it is easier to go through the niceties and allow things to unfold organically through discourse.

My Great-great-granddaughter Sybill knows this all too well, which is why she never lies to me. "Yes, _Baba_ Cassie."

"How much did you make this time?"

She reaches into her pocket. I can hear the coins within jingle. "Five Knuts."

"My word, that's even more than last week."

I love her innocent smile. "This means my powers are growing, right, _B__aba?"_

"Perhaps." I look down at her, giving my best look of reprimand. "But, how many times have I told you that it is bad luck for a seer to profit from their gift?"

"But, it's not for me, _B__aba;_ it's for you." She approaches and hands me the money. "The tea leaves told me that I'm going to be your partner one day."

I rattle the coins in my hand and toss them into a nearby change tray set atop a table. "And you've been in my tea leaves as well, have you?"

Sybill looks down at her shoes. "Yes, _Baba_ Cassie."

I can't help but snort. "Did you save us any tea for later?"

"No, _Baba_ Cassie."

I fold my arms, straightening so as to tower over her. "What else did the leaves say, then?"

She pouts. "I-I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

She finally looks up; her glasses make her doe eyes seem even bigger. "It's a... _surprise."_

I kneel in front of her. "Cassandra the Great cannot be 'surprised', little one." And I poke her chubby belly. The feather duster magically flits atop her head, and she giggles in the way that only a child can. My smile betrays me. "Go fetch my traveling cloak; you can buy us more tea at Diagon Alley with your gains."

She gleefully obeys, and with a pinch of Floo powder, we are walking the streets of Diagon Alley in no time.

In spite of my years, I usually dress down when I'm out. Celebrity has a double-edged advantage, being able to attract attention, further brought about by the theatrical raiment of a seer's robes.

I hold Sybill's hand as we walk down the cobbled street with my right—the hand of power. I hunch and exaggerate my elderly gait; I find that it makes people uncomfortable and, therefore, more likely to ignore me, but it has the added benefit of allowing Sybill's little legs to keep pace. To the world I may be Cassandra the Great, but to my Sybill, I am merely her _babushka._

"Do you know _my_ future, _B__aba?"_ She looks up at me with hopeful eyes. "When will I be a great seer like you?"

"Unfortunately, no one can see that far into the future. Only time will tell."

"But, I don't wish to be like mummy, gran, and gran-gran."

"You must learn patience, _Solnyshka,"_ I say. "You are too young. Even your magic as a witch has yet to manifest."

"When _I_ become a seer, I'm going be rich so that I can buy a house big enough for mum and all my grans..."

I pause and hold her fast, ensuring her attention. "It is bad luck to seek worldly gains using the Inner Eye, child. Always remember that it is a responsibility never to be taken so lightly."

The ridge of her eyeglasses hides her furrowed brow. "Then… why do you take money from your customers?"

The refreshing logic of a child makes me smile. "My customers do not pay me for The Sight. They pay me to be entertained."

"Like an actress? I don't understand, _B__aba."_

I resume our walk, as it helps me to collect my thoughts for my answer. "Do you remember that time your mum took you to that Muggle Healer, and he gave you a shot?"

Her frown gives her away. "Yes."

"And, did you look at the needle _before_ he stuck it in you?"

As I expect, she grimaces. "No, _B__aba,_ I couldn't bear to look."

"Such is the same for those who would presume to know their true future." Sybill's pensive expression tells me that her mind is at work unravelling the metaphor, so I give her more. "I dull the future's pain by telling my customers what they want to hear so that they can also 'look away'. It brings them comfort."

"Like when you read me a bedtime story?"

My grin broadens. "Precisely."

"Will you teach me more, _B__aba?"_

"Of course, child, when the time comes."

We arrive at the street vendor, the only one in Wizarding Britain who sells my favourite brand of tea, and I release Sybill's hand so I can explore their wares. Once my purchase is made, I reach for Sybill's hand only to notice that she is no longer by my side.

"Sybill?"

She has disappeared sooner than I had foreseen… I must be getting on in age. I abandon my crone facade, stand fully erect, and follow my Inner Eye. It leads me down Knockturn Alley. I arrive and open the aged door to Borgin and Burkes… Even after all these years, they still use that same annoying doorbell. I crinkle my nose at the musty waft that greets my ingress. I immediately see Sybill, standing, stilled, in the middle of the shop.

I call to her. "Sybill, what are you doing in here?"

She doesn't respond. I venture deeper inside; in passing a shelf of exotic, overpriced junk, I now have a clear line of sight as to that which captures her attention. Even as I approach, Sybill just stands there, entranced by the young man who tends the counter. I, myself, can't help but admire his dark, attractive features… especially his eyes.

I grab Sybill's arm, giving her a good shake. "What's gotten into you, girl?" This seems to snap her out of her reverie. I take her hand as before, but she abandons it, going instead to my left—the hand of authority. Her odd behaviour almost makes me forget to acknowledge the young man behind the counter. "I apologize if she's bothered you, sir."

His smile was just as compelling as his eyes. "She's no bother—" he pauses... I know in that moment that he recognizes me "—after all, it's not everyday that a celebrity graces this humble establishment." He bows, finishing with an introduction. "Tom Riddle, at your service, Madam Trelawney."

I put on the mask of my celebrity. "I probably belong on the shelf along with your other antiques."

"I prefer to use the word 'valuables,'" he replies with a pretence of confidence beyond his years. He approaches closer, saying, "If only you were in _my_ possession, it would take no less than a kingdom for me to part with you."

His smooth tongue is a match for his handsome face. I feel my heart beat a little quicker as he takes my right—the hand of power. I shudder as an alien feeling flows through me. Caught between two magical dipoles, my inner eye is forced open ever wider, but not by my will; my eye is opened by the power of my Sybill!

_Impossible!_

'Surprise', just as Sybill foretold… it's an odd sensation that I suspect many take for granted. It made me feel like a fish out of water for the first time in recent memory. As this unfamiliar emotion claims me, I yearn to return to the comforting boredom that my magic sight usually affords, yet fails me in this quantum of time. As a result, I don't have the luxury of averting my eyes from the future's needle. It thus pricks me, and the present world washes away:

**. . .**

_The bodies pile high in the wake of a war  
__Evil wins the day: the phoenix is no more._

_In my mind's eye, I am forced to see  
__A victory under the auspice of prophecy._

_My Sybill is the seer: her vision is to blame  
__And for that, she is murdered by he-who-has-no-name._

_If Sybill is to live, there is only one way to stop him:  
__He must choose the baby that is _not _of Longbottom— _

**. . .**

Tom's velvety voice brings my awareness back into the present. "Is everything okay, Madam Trewlawney?"

I notice that his eyes narrow as he asks. In spite of his pleasant face, I detect something sinister in him that should be feared; I hide my trepidation behind a smile. "Everything's right as rain." He looks through me, as if focused obliquely on Sybill, and for her sake I quell my panic. "We shan't take up any more of your time, Mr Riddle." He begrudgingly releases my hand, and we make haste toward the egress.

The door to the exit swings open, but not by magic. A rather handsome lad, whom I gauge is a few years younger than Mr Riddle, holds the door open for us. He pays Sybill and I no mind beyond the niceties, but as I pass beyond his regard, I sense the heart of a champion within him, and my panic subsides. The door starts to close behind us, and I am grateful to foresee that this would be the last time I will ever hear Mr Riddle's voice….

"As I live and breathe. Alastor Moody." (1)

—oOo—

I do my best to hide my surprise from Sybill, lest I encourage her, and our day returns to one of normalcy despite her continual prodding for information. There's nothing like grandchildren to make one feel young again. However, youth and vitality have their limits. It isn't until seven that evening, when her inquisitive mind is finally satiated, that both Sybill and I are ready for bed. We have one last cup of tea, and I lead her upstairs to her room. After negotiating which bedtime story I will read to her, I tuck her in. She is sound asleep before I manage to get halfway through the tale of _Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump._

I kiss my beloved Sybill on her crown; she nestles her head deeper into her pillow. I rise from the chair as quietly as I can and extinguish the light. In the dark, I fumble for the doorknob at the threshold. The light entering from the hallway as I open the door allows me to regard her angelic face one final time... _before_ I am to change her life forever. I brandish my wand; lime coloured sparkles trail from its tip as I flourish my hand, drawing the symbol of infinity with their wake. I feel a wetness on my cheeks from the flowing of my overwelled eyes:

**. . .**

_I make this entreaty to the heavens above  
__As I cast this hex in the name of love._

_I beseech all that which is divine  
__And pray to be the last of my line._

_For, how far into the future, unchecked, will she see—  
__She, who I fear will be more powerful than me?_

_Gods! To know the future is such a bane  
__By all that is holy, I will save her that pain._

_Pray, let she who can see, become as one who is blind  
__In the name of love, Sybill's _Sight, _I hence bind._

_Amen_

**. . .**

Sybill stirs. "Goodnight, _Baba_ Cassie."

"Goodnight, _Solnyshka." _I close the door.

The house is now deathly quiet. I descend the stairs on my way to the parlour, as I need to prepare my 'theatre' for the next day's influx of the seeing-blind who will wish to know their false fortunes. I pass the console table at the fourier, and I remember Sybill's money that I had previously left discarded in the change tray.

I retrieve the loose coins and throw them in the trash.

* * *

A/N:

(1) These events immediately precede _Prisoner of Hope,_ chapter 4.


End file.
